


Beautiful Disaster

by Thraceadams



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thraceadams/pseuds/Thraceadams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of a rogue group of hunters, injuries abound and Stiles is in the hospital. Again. Not only does the Sheriff find out about werewolves, but he's the one that figures things out about Derek and Stiles – what they do with that information is up to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to **aislinntlc** for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> EDITED: (Thanks to Bleep0Bleep for use of her disclaimer)
> 
> **This work is intended for the private enjoyment of the reader. I do not give permission to this work being shared with or read aloud by the press, or anyone working on said production of Teen Wolf, including but not limited to cast, crew, writers, or producers. I also do not give permission to share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads, which I believe is a resource intended for published works outside of fandom.**

**

Beautiful Disaster

**

Stiles sat on the floor of the warehouse, blood leaking sluggishly from the wound in his shoulder. The pain made him bite his lip to keep pained cries from slipping out with every breath. He could hear sirens in the background and knew that one of the moments he'd been dreading for the last two years was quickly coming to fruition. It didn't matter though, none of it mattered now, or at least it wouldn't if Derek didn't heal.

"Come on Derek, please," he whispered frantically. Angrily he swiped at an errant tear with the back of his hand, grimacing at the grime and blood on it. Hastily he wiped it on his jeans before running his fingers through Derek's hair again; ignoring the way blood was making the strands stiff. "Please don't die on me, please."

The grip Stiles had on Derek tightened as he clenched his fist in Derek's shredded shirt. The tears were flowing freely now. He even yanked a bit at Derek's hair, anything to get Derek to respond to him. "Derek, come on, you can't do this now. Please, you can't. I –" Stiles stopped, looking around the warehouse. 

Erica and Boyd were lying on the floor together. Her legs were obviously broken and there was a pool of blood growing under Boyd's head, but their hands – "Jesus, Derek, their hands." 

He had to turn away only to have his eyes land on Isaac curled up in a fetal position, arrows in his shoulder and thigh. Stiles thought Isaac was still alive because he could see him moving, could hear the tiny hitches in his breathing. 

Coughing came from off to his left and without even turning he knew it was Scott. 

"Stiles," Scott coughed. "Stiles! You okay?"

Stiles craned his neck to try to look at him, meet his eyes, but the arrow through his shoulder pinning him to the wall prevented him from turning his head that far. "Been better," he rasped out.

"Yeah. Deaton's on his way, so's my mom."

"And my Dad," Stiles whispered bitterly. 

"I'm sorry," Scott said softly.

"It's okay. I probably should have told him a long time ago. At least now all the lies can stop."

"Is Derek –"

"I don't know," Stiles replied softly, looking back down at Derek's head in his lap. 

"Derek?" he asked. "Derek, I kinda need you to wake up because in just a few minutes all hell is gonna break loose and I just, what the fuck are we going to tell people?"

He stroked a hand down the side of Derek's face, fingers searching for the pulse in his neck. Stiles heaved a sigh of relief when he found it. It was slow but steady. "Okay, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay," Stiles whispered, rubbing at Derek's neck, letting his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud. "You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be…"

"Stiles? Stiles? STILES!"

He could hear his Dad calling and he tightened his grip on Derek. He clutched at him even as his Dad loomed over them. Then they were surrounded by medics and Derek was pulled out of his lap, yanked from his grasp. He reached instinctively for Derek, trying to get to him. When he couldn't Stiles started to shout. "Derek? Derek? DEREK!"

"He's right here son. The medics are trying to help him." 

Ignoring the blinding white pain that shot through his arm, Stiles scrambled to follow the sound of his Dad's voice, wrenching his body out of the grip of the medics who had just broken the arrow pinning him to the wall. Lurching forward, he crawled to where Derek was being worked on.

"Son? Do you know, what was he on? What did he take?"

He grabbed Derek's hand and laced their fingers together. "Nothing. He's not on any drugs. He'll be okay, he'll be okay. He just needs time to heal."

"Scott!!"

Melissa came running in and Stiles could hear a whispered conversation happening between her and Scott, but all he could make out was 'Mom, help Derek.' Melissa finally agreed and she was by Stiles' side.

"You," she spoke to the medics. "Go over and help those two and for God's sake get that metal shaft pinning their hands to the ground out of them. They can't heal like that."

"But ma'am –" the one protested.

"I got this. Go help them. Now."

The medics grumbled but did as she said and went over to where Boyd and Erica were lying. 

"Stiles, honey, what happened? Was he shot? Does he need wolfsbane? Tell me honey, so I can help him, okay?"

"I don't know," Stiles cried out, pulling Derek's head back into his lap and cradling it. "I don't know. There's none of that black veiny stuff there usually is with wolfsbane."

"It smells like wolfsbane, Mom," Scott coughed out again. "Call Deaton, it doesn't smell like ours."

"I already called him. He was right behind me," she frowned before turning back to Stiles.

"Wolfsbane? What the hell is going on! Stiles!" The Sheriff looked down at him in confusion but Stiles only spared him a glance before he was helping Melissa get the final shreds of Derek's shirt off his shoulders. There had to be a wound someplace.

"Oh shit, I found it," Stiles whispered.

Melissa let out a gasp. There was an open wound in Derek's belly, and it looked like there were tiny pieces of metal still inside him.

"Oh, Jesus, fuck," Stiles said. "Where the hell is Deaton? We need that wolfsbane. Fuck, how are we gonna get all those pieces?" He looked up at Melissa. "It looks like he had black sand poured in his wound. What the hell did they shoot him with?"

"It's a new exploding bullet. Allison told me about them. She said her Dad heard rumors about them and ordered some just in case. But you can put your own wolfsbane in them," Scott coughed again, a gurgly sound and Stiles knew he was coughing up blood.

"Call her, tell her we need those damn bullets, we need something." 

"I got it," Melissa said, pulling Stiles' phone out and dialing Allison's number. 

The theme from _The Hunger Games_ came from somewhere toward the back of the warehouse, it was tinny and muffled.

Scott pushed himself off the ground, his arm wrapped around his chest, coughing and spitting up blood. "Allison! ALLISON!" 

Stiles watched as Scott went running toward the sound but whipped his head around when Derek shifted in his lap. "Derek? Derek?"

"Someone tell me what the SAM HELL is going on!"

Melissa stood up in an effort to placate the Sheriff. "Sheriff –"

"No, I don't want to hear any excuses from anyone. We've got three dead bodies and a whole bunch of injured teens, not to mention Derek Hale with his head in my son's lap and looking like he's blissed out on some kind of drug."

"He is NOT blissed out on some kind of drug," Stiles hissed. "Gaping wound in his belly, did you miss that?"

"Stiles," Melissa said sharply.

Stiles felt his cheeks heat up as he looked back down at Derek, shame making his stomach clench. "Sorry, it's just, where the hell is Deaton?"

"Right here," came a voice from the entrance of the warehouse and Stiles was never gladder to see someone in all his life.

"Mom! I need you," Scott shouted from across the warehouse. "It's Allison, she's hurt."

For a brief second Stiles looked up from Derek, looked around at the carnage surrounding him, the number of paramedics and policemen including his dad, the dead bodies, his friends all wounded, some of them with what would have been fatal in a normal human being, and it was overwhelming. His heart pounded and he felt like he wasn't getting enough air. His vision started to tunnel and the edges grayed and then blacked out until all he could see was the gaping wound in Derek's belly covered in black sand.

"Help him," he gasped before letting the darkness take him and passing out right onto Derek's chest.

**

***

**

The first thing Stiles became aware of was the pain in his shoulder. It wasn't the excruciating blinding white hot pain he'd had earlier but it wasn't a walk in the park either. The throbbing it was doing was keeping rhythm with his heart and making his head ache in time as well. His eyes felt gritty but when he went to rub them he couldn't move his arm. Forcing them open, he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but he had to blink his eyes several times.

There was a leather restraint around his free arm and the other was in a sling. But the thing that was blowing him away was the two men seated by the bed. His dad and Derek were both sitting in hard plastic hospital chairs, pulled close to his bed and each other. Both men were sleeping, slumped over, resting their heads together. 

"I'm dead. I'm officially dead and in some kind of hell or purgatory or I don't even know but –" he stopped because Derek's eyes flew open and he moved to sit up but then stilled when he realized the position he was in. 

"Stiles?" Derek whispered.

"In the flesh and restrained. What the hell is that about?"

"You were thrashing in your sleep," his Dad mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face and sitting up, not looking at Derek. "They restrained you because you kept trying to get up –" his voice trailed off as if the next part was going to be physically painful to say. "You kept trying to go save Derek."

"What?" Stiles asked incredulously, his eyes flitting over to Derek and watching in surprise as the tips of his ears turned red. 

"Yes, Derek, who is apparently a werewolf with super healing powers and doesn't need you to save him," his Dad continued dryly.

"Um, yeah, about that – " Stiles started and then stopped to cough because his mouth was just too dry to finish the thought.

Derek leaned forward and wrapped his hand around Stiles' wrist. "It's okay. Scott and I talked to him, told him everything."

"Everything?" Stiles squeaked.

"Well, Melissa helped," the Sheriff piped up. "You know a lot of things make a whole lot more sense now."

Stiles could feel his heart rabbiting in his chest and he started to feel short of breath. Derek's hold on his wrist tightened. 

"Stiles, breathe," he ordered softly.

Stiles met Derek's eyes finding the flash of red soothing rather than scary. He took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth, matching his breathing with Derek's until he'd calmed down. "What about everyone else? Scott, oh my God, is Allison okay? What about Boyd and Erica, and shit Isaac, are they okay?"

Derek's thumb stroked slowly over the pulse in his wrist. "Everyone is fine. Allison has some broken ribs and a cracked vertebra and her shoulder was wrenched pretty badly, but she'll be just fine in a few weeks. Argent's pretty pissed off. He's put the word out that hunters aren't welcome in Beacon Hills, especially not Hunters using werewolves as their own personal guard dogs and if any more come around, he's given us carte blanche to go after them."

"Wow, um," Stiles twisted his wrist a bit in the restraint, wanting to run a hand over the back of his neck. "Um, that's huge. Can we take this thing off now? Please? And Jesus I'm thirsty; what does a guy have to do around here to get something to drink? And how long have I been out of it?"

Squeezing his wrist, Derek stood up. "A day? Maybe two? It's been kinda blurry, I haven't had much sleep. You were in and out, not sure how much you remember. I should go get a nurse, let them know you're awake." He gave Stiles a meaningful look, his eyes flicking over to the Sheriff and back before opening the door and leaving the room.

The silence stretched out between Stiles and his father, and just when Stiles was about to open his mouth to say something, the door opened and a nurse bustled in. Silently watching while she took his vital signs, took off his restraints, asked him a few questions, and gave him some ice chips, Stiles' mind was racing, trying to think of what if anything he could say to his Dad. The nurse left all too quickly and the silence loomed over them again, eventually stretching out so long that Stiles' eyes grew heavy and he felt himself drifting off again.

It was several hours before he woke again and Derek was still gone. His Dad was just sitting there, eyes closed but not sleeping. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, Stiles spoke. "So, werewolves are a thing and um, Derek and Scott are both werewolves; Allison's a hunter, it's a whole thing."

His Dad sat up giving Stiles his full attention. "Erica and Boyd?"

"Werewolves."

"And that boy Isaac, the one whose father –"

"Used to beat the crap out of him so good riddance? Werewolf."

"Huh. That's what Derek and Scott told me." The Sheriff shifted in his seat, uncrossing his legs and stretching them out. "So you and Derek…"

"Yup. I mean what?"

"You and Derek, you're a – a thing?"

Stiles felt his face heat up and suddenly the white natty blanket covering him was the most interesting thing on the planet. "No, um, I mean, we're not, I mean, Jesus Dad, I just woke up, do we have to talk about this now?" He huffed out a sigh. "I don't know, I think he only tolerates me because I'm good at research and sometimes this magic stuff, otherwise…" his voice trailed off.

"Well for only tolerating you he spent a lot of time at your bedside the past two days. Not to mention the way he looked worried like I was going to tell him you were completely off limits or like I was going to handcuff him and drag him off to jail every single time I entered the room."

"Huh?" Stiles asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

The Sheriff shrugged. "I'm just saying, people usually don't act like that or look like that over someone they barely tolerate. And I've never seen someone talk you down from a panic attack with just a light rubbing of their thumb over your wrist," his Dad finished pointedly.

"It's not like that, I mean, not for him. Wait, really? He did all that?"

The Sheriff just raised an eyebrow and Stiles let out a 'huh.' 

"It's just, I'm – he's, Jesus," Stiles let out a sigh, twisting his hands together and into the blanket over his lap. "His life has sucked hard and I just want to make it better y'know? I mean, he deserves something good. He blames himself, for the fire I mean, but he was young and a teenage boy and if there's anything I understand it's being a teenage boy with the hormones and stuff. And she was just a fucking nut job but considering who her father is that isn't a surprise, but just Jesus. He's afraid he's like her, with me I mean, because I'm so much younger, but I'm not, I mean, I'm eighteen, it's different, we're different. I'm not trying to take advantage of him and kill his family."

"Stiles, breathe, you're not making much sense," the Sheriff interrupted him.

"Kate, Kate Argent set the damn fire, after she seduced him. Now he –"

"Jesus, Stiles –"

"He blames himself, he's been self-flagellating for years and he shouldn't be. I mean it would be so easy to blame him, I know that, but he was young and stupid and just wanted someone. I get that, I do. And now, he still thinks he doesn't," Stiles paused, taking another deep breath. "I think I love him, Dad. I know he's a complete disaster and maybe I have some Florence Nightingale syndrome and want to take care of him and fix him. And deep down I know I can't fix him, he's got to fix himself, but at least I can let him know that I care? That he's not as much of a lost cause as he thinks he is?" 

He shrugged. "And maybe someday…"

Any further conversation was halted by Derek pushing the door open and coming in with coffee for both the Sheriff and himself. "Hey! You're awake. Sorry, the nurse said you couldn't have any. She said maybe some water or a clear liquid tray and she would bring them herself."

Stiles bit back the sarcastic rejoinder that was on the tip of his tongue because Derek actually did look sorry about it. He also wondered just how much of the conversation with his Dad that Derek heard. Probably all of it. Stiles wished so hard sometimes that the Earth really would open up and swallow him whole. He watched as both men grimaced when they tasted the coffee and let a snort of laughter slip out.

"That bad, huh?"

Two sets of eyes met his and both men shook their heads before looking at each other. Derek's ears turned red but the Sheriff smiled and then chuckled softly. "Yeah, it really is. Melissa warned us, told us the coffee was bad, but while you were – well, it's the best we could get."

A few long moments of awkward silence later an aide showed up with a dinner tray. Nothing but clear liquids on it, some broth, some Jell-O, nothing really appetizing, but just the smell of the broth made his stomach growl and he realized just how hungry he was. 

"The doctor said if you do okay with this we might be able to move you up to full liquids for breakfast."

Stiles smiled and thanked the aide and dug into his broth, ignoring the growing silence. He finished his entire tray and sat back, glancing back and forth between his Dad and Derek and finally curiosity got the better of him. Swallowing hard and clenching his fists in the sheet, he looked over at Derek. "How did you heal?"

"Deaton. The one hunter still had a few bullets left. Deaton figured they probably used the same wolfsbane in their bullets as they did on their arrows. He was right. He's got quite the collection of wolfsbane now. I'm sure once you're healed he's gonna want you to get back up to speed again."

The Sheriff sat forward. "Tell me about this thing with Deaton."

"I've been training with him, for a while now."

"What's a while? Training with him how?" the Sheriff asked.

Stiles shrugged. "A couple of years I guess, right after Peter…" He cast a furtive glance at Derek, he knew the whole thing with Peter was still a sensitive subject, even two years later. "I needed to feel like I could protect myself and not just with the self defense stuff you taught me. I mean that's good stuff, but against a werewolf –"

"It's like an ant kicking an elephant."

Startled, Stiles looked at his dad and then laughed. "Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, he taught me about mountain ash and wolfsbane and the various uses for both. Mom always said I had a spark, not sure this is what she meant by that but -"

"Your mom had," the Sheriff paused, "she had something. She knew a lot about herbs and things and she was friends with Mrs. Hale."

Derek sat up, his eyes going wide and Stiles itched to reach out and take his hand.

"I knew she helped them sometimes; there were nights when she would say she was going out to see Lily and when she came back she looked tired, drained almost. She'd just smile and say the kids had been a bit rambunctious. We never talked about it, not really, but I knew and she knew I knew. Right before she died, she told me that you were special, that one day you'd be needed and that it would be okay. Told me to have faith in you like I had faith in her. So, yeah, kid, I think this is exactly what she meant."

"Wait, what? I mean, why, how, why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I was going to tell you when the time came –"

"But you never got the chance because I've spent the last two years lying to you." Stiles looked down at his hands, feeling his cheeks heat up in shame. 

The Sheriff reached out and covered Stiles' hands with his own. "It wasn't your secret to tell."

He turned to look at Derek, placing his free hand on his shoulder and squeezing a bit. "I'm sorry you've been alone in all this. You're not anymore." He dropped his hand, patted Stiles' hands and stood up. "Now that you're awake and out of trouble?" he shot a quick glance over to Derek who nodded. "I'm gonna go grab some food, something fat and disgusting while I can, shower and sleep in my own bed tonight. I'll stop by in the morning before I head into work; the office has been on its own for long enough."

He leaned down and kissed Stiles on the head, clapped Derek on the back and walked out. After a long moment of silence, Stiles finally spoke. "Well, that was a lot easier than I expected."

Derek snorted.

"I mean, I'm sure when you and Scott first told him it was rough, seriously, how did that go?"

Rolling his eyes, Derek sat forward, leaning his forearms on the bed, lacing his fingers together. "Well it wasn't a walk in the preserve if that's what you're asking."

"Did you just make a joke? You just made a joke!" Stiles laughed and he saw Derek's eyes crinkle in amusement before settling back into their normal stoic setting.

"You almost died."

Derek's whisper was so low that Stiles almost didn't hear it. "We almost lost you. I –" he choked the rest of the sentence off and Stiles made grabby hands for him.

When Derek finally leaned close enough that Stiles could wrap a hand around his forearm he hissed out a breath, his chest aching from the effort. "You didn't. We're all alive, a little worse for the wear but alive."

"You got hurt though –" 

"Saving your life and I would do it again." And he really didn't want to examine exactly why so he talked to cover it up. "I mean if one of them killed you, they would be Alpha, right? And I suspect that is something we _really_ don't want. Can you imagine Scott accepting that crazy fuck as his Alpha? And then being dragged off to work with Hunters? Yeah, never going to happen, I mean, Chris barely tolerates him and Scott doesn't even acknowledge you –" Stiles had the grace to wince at his harsh words but the aggressively blank look on Derek's face told him his slip of the tongue was just that, a slip and not intentional so he pressed on. "And considering their complete and utter disregard for human life, you really think if I have the chance to save you, take an arrow for you that I won't do it? Because think again buddy, I'm totally gonna do it. Beacon Hills needs you, your pack needs you, I –"

Derek's eyes snapped up to look at Stiles and Stiles' face went hot. He dropped his gaze, studying the blanket on the bed instead. "I- I need you," he finished quietly.

His quiet tone belied the rapid beating of his heart. It was so fast and so loud Stiles thought his father could probably hear it in his cruiser on the way toward home. Self-consciously he let go of the hold he had on Derek's arm. He drew his bottom lip into his mouth and started chewing on it, closing his eyes tightly because if he looked at Derek right now, he'd chicken out.

"I'm pretty sure you heard what I said earlier, with my dad. I meant it, every word of it. You aren't the same kid that made a mistake, you aren't him anymore, you're so much more. You have so many people that care about you, that need you, that want you to be happy. And your family, they, I mean, I'm sure they-" he opened his eyes to look at Derek. "You can't tell me they'd want you to punish yourself for the rest of your life. My mom doesn't want me doing that and she was friends with your mom, you really think either of them would want us to be unhappy?"

Derek's eyes flashed red and Stiles' breath caught in his throat but he tumbled forward, words spilling out of his mouth. "I don't need you to do anything, or say anything, or whatever. I carried a torch for Lydia for years so this will just be like that only with the more obvious knowing thing."

Derek's lips twitched and he snorted.

"What?" Stiles scowled at him.

"From what Lydia says you weren't exactly subtle, so you're deluding yourself if you think she didn't know." 

Before Stiles could retort though, he continued.

"Why?"

The openness and vulnerability in Derek's voice made Stiles' heart clench in his chest, painful to the point of Stiles reaching up and twisting his hand in the gown over it. "Why what?"

Derek's head dropped down, and Stiles knew he was studying the denim pattern of his jeans or maybe even the linoleum pattern of the floor and it made Stiles want to reach out to him, to touch some part of him.

"Because you're you. You weren't born an Alpha, you were never supposed to do this. You didn't want to lead a rag tag group of teenagers anywhere. You would have been happy to just hang in the woods and brood for the rest of your life. But you didn't. You stepped up to the plate and took Scott under your wing. Okay, you weren't like a gentle momma bird, more like an angry bear or something, but still you reached out to him, to help him. And yeah, you made some really poor choices in turning people, because seriously? Jackson? The biggest douchebag on the planet and you give him super powers? Thanks a fucking lot, dude."

A laugh interrupted him but Stiles was on a roll.

"Regardless, you whipped them into shape, even managed to bring Peter the psycho under control and make him a valuable and effective member of the pack that I still don't want to be alone with in a dark alley but it is what it is. You defeated the Alpha pack. Twice. You even managed to draft a peace treaty with the Argents, something no other werewolf pack anywhere has been able to do. But you did it. So stop selling yourself short, thinking you're not good enough or that you don't deserve good things, because you do."

Stiles took a breath, his heart pounding and sweat beading up on his upper lip. His face felt hot and flushed and the monitors he was still attached to were beeping loudly, loud enough he was afraid someone was going to interrupt to check on him. He'd twisted the blanket beneath his fingers until his fists were so tight his knuckles were white. 

But then Derek's hand was on his, stilling the restless movement of his fingers, stroking a thumb over the back of his hand. After a moment or two, Stiles heart hitched in his chest again. His dad was right. Derek was able to calm him with just a touch. The pounding of his heart slowed down, his breathing eased and he felt the sweat cool on his skin. Stiles closed his eyes, swallowing hard, steeling himself for the rejection he was sure to come.

"Stiles."

Stiles shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed even tighter. "No, just," his voice broke. "Just don't say it, okay? Please?" 

Derek let go of his hand and Stiles fought back the warm rush he could feel behind his eyes. He heard Derek get out of the chair and walk toward the door but then the bed shifted behind him. Before he had a chance to compose himself he was surrounded by werewolf heat, manhandling him back down onto the bed. Derek lay behind him, nose pressing against the back of his neck, body lined up with his, arm draped carefully around his waist, holding him close.

"What –" Stiles tried to turn but the arm around his waist just tightened.

"Shh, no more talking," Derek whispered against his neck, lips warm and insistent. "I don't deserve you, but I'm willing to let you try to convince me."

And that was enough for Stiles. For now.

**

The End

**

**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimers/Archive:** These people are NOT mine. The characters of Teen Wolf were created by Jeff Davis and I'm just playing in his sandbox for fun. I promise I'll return them in pristine condition when I'm done :D PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do NOT tweet the actors or the show's creators a link to this, tweet their friends or relatives a link to this, or in any other way let them know this fic even exists. If you would like to make one copy for your own personal use, that is fine, please do not redistribute, copy, or in any way claim as your own.


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